


Chasing The Twister

by LadyDrace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Bottom Derek, Bottom Derek Hale, Bottom Derek Hale/Top Stiles Stilinski, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, M/M, POV Derek, POV Derek Hale, Riding, Self-Hatred, Top Stiles Stilinski, Wolfed Out Derek, Wolfed Out Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 10:12:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6700810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is needy and hates it. Stiles tries to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing The Twister

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a Tumblr [post](http://pale-silver-comb.tumblr.com/post/143586229102/sliiiiides-into-ur-inbox-so-bottomderek-eh) made by [Emma](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Emela), and I need to warn that I doubt I tagged it appropriately for the sheer amount of self-hatred and dark thoughts Derek expresses in this. But, uh... there's smut, at least. 
> 
> Unbetaed.

Derek always thought it was a weakness. Something pathological, even. Middle child syndrome or just a plain lack of will in his most basic make-up. This _need_.

 

As a wolf he's naturally tactile, and the craving for touch is to be expected. But it goes beyond that for him. He needs attention. Not in the way most people assume, judging by his bad-boy fashion choices and excessive muscle definition gym routines. He doesn't want fawning from strangers. He wants connection. To be wanted. Cherished. _Loved_. And wanting something so selfish and cliché makes him feel bad enough, but it gets worse. Because it's not just a vague desire, it's a need. A necessity, one which turns him into the worst of himself when he doesn't get it, and makes him make the worst possible life choices if the promise of it is dangled closely enough in front of his face.

 

Shutting all of it down was just safer for everyone. Learning how to do without was just a matter of course. Being a shitty person would always be preferable to someone who couldn't be trusted to do the best for his pack.

 

Trust _Stiles_ to be the one to tear that logic up by its fucking roots.

 

Because he won't accept any of Derek's perfectly valid reasonings. He refuses to let Derek pull away, shut down, and cut the connection before it becomes one. And it only really confirms how weak Derek always believed he was when he lets Stiles open that long-shut gate all over again.

 

So Derek gasps and whines as he slams down on Stiles' cock, faster and harder, damn near sobbing from how good it feels. Not just in the purely physical way, though that's a big part of it. But Stiles is everywhere, under him, around him, _in him_ , and even so, Derek feels like he'll never be full enough. Like the needy void inside of him will never be sated. And yet, he can't help but try.

 

”That's it, Derek, that's it. Fuck yeah, sweetheart, take it. Take what you need.”

 

Stiles' dirty talk is a strange mix of filth and tenderness, like he enjoys turning sexual convention on its head just for the sake of it. Which he probably does. ”Yeah, fucking use me, baby,” he groans, hips jerking up to meet Derek's, and it's too much and too little all at once when Derek comes, needing the release so badly, but also sad that it's already over when he's not even remotely full yet.

 

He lets out a soft sob when he collapses onto Stiles in a heap, and immediately long arms wind around him, keeping him where he is, not letting him part them yet. ”That's it, baby, that's it,” Stiles croons, and Derek moans into his chest, feeling broken. ”I know you need more,” Stiles says, but how can he know? How can he possibly know how empty and raw Derek feels inside? ”Let me give it to you, Derek. Please, let me try.”

 

And, god, Derek wants to argue, because it's a foolish endeavor, doomed to fail, but he's still just so needy and wanting, and he lets Stiles roll them over without complaint. Stiles is still hard, so it's really nothing for him to start thrusting again, slow at first, letting Derek's cock catch up, but soon it's rabbit-fast and frantic, and Derek clings to him hard enough that he really has to concentrate not to let his claws out. But it helps, too. Helps to keep his focus off his desperate need, at least long enough to draw it out a few more minutes before he comes again, cock spurting weakly against his stomach. This time, Stiles follows him over the brink, and Derek wants to howl with the loss of his hardness when it fades.

 

He tries to leave the bed, but Stiles still refuses to let him, holding onto him, and pressing him down with his full weight. Which isn't even half of Derek's but the intention carries all the force needed. And Derek is still weak. _Always_ weak. Especially when it comes to Stiles. ”Don't go, Der, please. Don't go yet.”

 

Derek knows Stiles is not a cuddler by nature, but he's not about to resist when all he wants to do is burrow under Stiles' skin and stay there forever. He gasps sharply when Stiles shifts, pulling away just enough to get his arm between them, and plunge two of his slim fingers inside Derek without preamble. A third follows immediately when Derek's hole greedily welcomes the intrusion, and he pants hard into Stiles' ear as he's fucked slow and deep, knuckles dragging against his insides in a maddening rhythm. ” _Fuck_ ,” he whimpers, and Stiles shushes him.

 

”It's okay, Derek. It's okay, I know you need it.”

 

He's too far gone to consider how Stiles knows this. All that matters is that the pressure is just right, and his cock is optimistically trying to fatten up, but there's no way he can come again, not for a while. But it doesn't seem to matter to Stiles. He keeps the pace fast and brutal, and when his arm inevitably tires, he just switches hands, like it's nothing. Derek clings to him, arms locked around Stiles' shoulders, face mashed against his neck where he smells so perfect and good and of _them_.

 

”There you go,” Stiles says, voice like silk dragging over bruised skin. ”There you go.”

 

Another sob hitches out, and Derek's whole body shudders. He's not crying, that seems almost too simple a description of what his body is doing. There's chaos inside him. A tornado of punishing winds and greedy hunger, and, god, Stiles should never have started this. But he's still there, chasing the twister, ramming his fingers in again and again until Derek feels like it's the only thing keeping him alive. Like a heartbeat. Like lungs pulling in air. Rhythm and beat. Push and pull.

 

He feels the prickle of claws in his fingertips moments before it's too late, and flings his arms up to claw at the headboard slats instead of digging into Stiles' vulnerable back. Stiles looks down on him with something like awe on his face. ”Fuck, Derek, that's good. So good. You're doing so well. You deserve this.”

 

Derek wants to scream in protest, because what does he deserve but pain and suffering? But Stiles just leans down to kiss him quiet, licking at his canines as they lengthen, and moves his hand faster. ”That's it, let it in. You can have this.”

 

And it's so odd, because most people assume the wolf is something to be let _out_ , when that's not even remotely how it works. It's just another physical side of Derek. Like blushing or goosebumps. Stiles probably knows this, though, just like how he knows a million other things he's not supposed to. Especially when it comes to Derek.

 

He's giving in, he can feel it. The constant flow of laser-focused attention and care Stiles has been giving him for days, finally culminating in this weirdly intense coupling, is enough that Derek's walls are actually crumbling. He realizes suddenly that he won't come back from this whole, and just as he reaches that conclusion, Stiles pulls his fingers out.

 

” _No!_ ” Derek roars, but Stiles is right there, shushing him.

 

”I got you, I got you, see, here I am,” he assures, and Derek actually does cry then, heavy shameful tears rolling down his temples when Stiles pushes into him again, his cock apparently having caught up in the meantime. ”Here, sweetheart, don't worry, here. It's all here.”

 

Stiles is going more slowly, obviously trying to draw things out, but Derek can't handle slow now. Not when everything in him is still screaming for it, and he can't shut it off anymore. He rolls them over in a harsh move that leaves deep gouges in the wood of the headboard as he flips, and he grips it again for leverage as he starts riding again, harder and faster than before. His own cock is still soft, and also pretty much unimportant, because all that matters is Stiles, hot and hard inside him.

 

”Yeah, come on, come on,” Stiles pants, and Derek sees him wince at every slap of their hips, but he can't ease off now. ”It's okay. It's okay, Derek,” Stiles says, like he can read Derek's fucking mind. ”This is for you. Don't worry, I swear I got you.”

 

And the worst part is that Derek knows what Stiles means, now. He doesn't mean he'll make Derek come, or that he'll stay for the afterglow or whatever other platitudes people mean when they say shit like that in bed. Stiles means that he's _got_ Derek. In everything. Like he's already had for years, long before they became this, long before Derek dared to want anything for himself. He has Derek's back, always, and won't allow him to hurt himself or others. It's trust. Trust that even though Stiles looks uncomfortable, that he won't let it go to a place where Derek will feel bad for causing pain or discomfort. Trust that even though he can't possibly understand the sheer enormity of Derek's need, that he'll still try and try and _try_ to fill that void.

 

Derek feels himself orgasm again, completely bypassing his cock, his whole body locking up instead, and a hard pulsing washing through him, again and again, like waves crashing on a rocky beach. He breathes wild and whimpering, his lungs struggling to keep up, and Stiles holds onto him with hands like steel, making sure he won't fly away.

 

”Yes, sweetheart, yes,” Stiles says through gritted teeth, flushed and still under him, obviously trying to hold back and keep giving Derek more. And, god, Derek loves him for it.

 

”Co- come. I need you to come,” Derek stutters, still unable to move, and from the way Stiles hisses, obviously he's not having the easiest time either, pushing back inside the fierce clench of Derek's hole.

 

”You sure?” he asks, even as he's hitching his hips faster.

 

”Yeah. Yeah, I need it.”

 

And those are obviously the magic words, because the next thing he knows he feels the hot gush inside him again, and he's actually lost count now, of how many time he's had that tonight. And he's still not feeling like he'll ever get enough. But, as Stiles softens yet again, and Derek's muscles slowly unclench, it's like he can breathe again. Still hungry and needy, but less... just _less_ , somehow.

 

Stiles moves to roll them again, but Derek stops him. ”Don't... don't, it's fine.”

 

”No,” Stiles argues, because when does he not. ”It's not fine, Derek. You need more, I can tell.”

 

Derek doesn't even want to know how Stiles could possibly tell such a thing, but one more surprising tear leaks from the corner of his eye before he catches it. ”Yeah. Okay,” he admits. ”But it can wait a little bit, now.”

 

The narrowed eyes Stiles sends him almost makes Derek want to laugh, probably with a hysterical note to it, because he feels brittle and weary, like he'll shatter if he's poked just right. ”You sure?”

 

Laying down carefully, Derek rest his head on Stiles' chest again, making sure they don't separate yet. They'll have to soon, but Derek thinks he can handle the prospect now. ”Yeah,” he sighs, feeling his claws slowly pull back in, and celebrates by hugging Stiles closer. ”Yeah. Thank you, Stiles. Thank you.”

 

Stiles' heart makes a weird sequence of thumps, but his voice is calm. ”Anytime. And I mean that, Derek. Anytime you need me, I'm here.”

 

There's so much in that statement, and it's frankly terrifying. But Derek is tired now, so tired, and he simply doesn't have the strength to think about it too closely. He's almost dozing off when Stiles' cock finally slips out of him, and Derek doesn't quite manage to stop his distressed whine in time.

 

”Shhh, it's okay, no worries, I got this,” Stiles murmurs, and eases them onto their sides. He arranges them until they're comfortable, Derek's back spooned up against him, and pushes Derek's leg up the mattress. ”Sleep, sweetheart,” he whispers in Derek's ear, and gently eases two fingers into him again, just leaving them there, and Derek breathes out a long, exhausted breath.

 

He's not filled. Not even by a long shot. But, for the first time in a long time, he starts thinking that maybe he could be. That maybe he could reach a point where he wouldn't always be so desperately hungry. That maybe, one day, he could learn how to breathe again.

 

End.

 


End file.
